Crisp air blew through the open window in Illya's living room. Strumming a tune that he'd heard recently, the Russian felt a melancholy coming on that was accompanied by the lyrics he'd quickly memorized.
Moon River, wider than a mile. I'm crossing you in style, some day…
The silver pen jangled its own tune.
"Mr. Kuryakin, we have a situation."
"Yes sir, on my way. Kuryakin out."
… dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you're going I'm going your way…"
Illya put the guitar down and pulled on a turtleneck over bare skin. No time for a blue mood.